A case study of Downtown L.A. as a metro-prison.
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Monday, September 3, 2012

2012 Fall Quarter: Neurotic (Jewish) Men 101

In the past few years, I have been involved with, not exactly a proper paranoid neurotic Jewish guy, but a man who is genetically and culturally equivalent. Think Larry David and Woody Allen. I obviously have not mastered him as an object of study. However, it is time to at least start composing a list of the characteristics of his species, in order to better understand this special mutation of human beings:

They have to watch a movie in a theater exactly from the start to the end. In fact, they arrive the theater half an hour before the movie starts—with me. If we are not early enough, they freak out. In the past, I just also freaked out when my guy freaked out. Now, after four years of dating him, I just take Lexapro and feel fine.

They know the difference between an em dash and an en dash. Very helpful.

They despise and ridicule intellectuals, such as a professor who teaches a course called "TV, Media and Culture" in UCLA, even if sometimes, they happen to be one of them.

They ignore what I say in a conversation and respond by talking about a completely irrelevant yet an obsessed topic of their own, such as a strange sound or smell in the bedroom that does not really exist in reality but only in their imagination.

They wear eyeglasses.

They have slightly off family members. "Slightly off," here, is my very nice way to put it.

They have a rigid—sometimes uninformed—opinion about medical care, medication, therapy, supplements, diet and hygiene. In their dreams, they imagine germs and viruses have scary faces and hairy legs which attack humans and look like Shrek.

They don't like trying unfamiliar foods. When you force them to, they ask what the food is made of, where the ingredients are brought from, how long the ingredients have sat on the kitchen counter after being taken out from the freezer, what cleanliness grade the restaurant gets, etc. This is why Antacid is your friend when you dine with them.

They are so talented and funny-as-hell that they make me want to go to bed with them. This is usually the only way they can trick attractive women to go out with them at the beginning of a relationship, unless they are also one of the ridiculously rich Jews.

They have serious hypochondria.

They check on and question any unusual minor everyday objects you own, such as an African black facial soap, a syringe (with no needle) or a pack of antique Japanese cigarettes (for decoration) in your bathroom.

They bring a thermometer with them everywhere and take their temperature all the time. When they think they are sick, this habit gets accelerated to every five minutes. Their favorite electronic gadgets are thermometers, alarm timepieces and well designed umbrellas.

They enjoy helping small, weak and poor things, like an orphan from Cambodia, a sick old dog or something. Certainly, they are not evil. However, they can be pricks or completely insensitive to others' feelings sometimes. That is not their true nature but more of their fucked-up upbringing. You can't do anything about this. Unfortunately, it is an accident of human emotional development during the modern age of catastrophe and trauma.

They conform to the traditional gender role model and enjoy a relationship the most when the woman is inferior to them. If you are a hot, strong and independent girlfriend, dumb it down a little bit from time to time. They don't see women of the same or more intelligence as their ideal mates. Close the lid of a jar of spaghetti sauce as tightly as you can, then helplessly beg him to open it for you. Ask him how much interest you pay if you have a 3% APR auto loan and pay $475 a month. Nevertheless, make sure you do the latter only if your boyfriend can count. If he happens to fail in math, do the former.

People either love them as genii or hate them as freaks or scumbags. There are seldom "neutral" situations.

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May I encourage my readers to leave comments? This blog has been getting three figure hits daily while I rarely see any comments except from my honorary reader Professor Pielke. I have no idea from where the traffic is drawn (it says “no referring link” for 98% of the clicks). I just wanna know if it's in the process that a bucket of feces on Downtownchick’s doorstep is plotted so that I can stock up cleaning supplies from 99¢ Store or if you just accidentally spell the entire URL correctly on your address bar when you sleepwalk. That’s all.

Who the heck’s Downtown Chick?

That crazy bitch lives in an old building for writers and the mentally ill in the old bank district in Los Angeles Downtown alone after she was discharged from the asylum. Because of her multiple personality disorder, she has to write her alter-ego blog here when she does not play her primary role around her boss, mom, dad, uncles, aunts, cousins, boyfriends, girlfriends, neighbors, fans, stalkers, and oh mine, her dream guy with whom she wants to share her most inner secrets, hopes and dreams!

Anyhow, she specializes in inventing a new form of mental seclusion in a cosmopolitan environment in the 21th century. Her hobbies include flirting with her shrink, loitering by major drug dealer locations on Los Angeles Street and online bargain shopping for Prozac alternatives. She can be reached at downtownchick@gmail.com.